Feb 26 2004
Idgie-boo
February’s been a hard month; work’s been rather hectic for both Husband and myself, and February presented us with cat problems as well. At the end of January, we discovered that Idgie (my HugelyFatAndNeurotic darling) had two sizeable (well, what I’d consider sizeable) lumps on her belly. After a quick trip to the vet, it was determined that she had kitty breast cancer (a concept which, while perfectly logical, I guess, still strikes me as being bizarre), and a kitty masectomy (no less bizarre to me) was scheduled.
The poor thing wasn’t pleased about the two long scars down either side of her stomach, but seemed to be recovering well a day or so after the surgery. The vet gave us one of those cone-shaped collars to take with us in case she started licking her wounds, but we were pleased to see that she didn’t seem to be at all concerned with her stitches. Note to other cat owners: always use the collar. Idge turned out to be a stealth-licker; after three days her recovery seemed to slow, and she was much more lethargic and in pain than she had been. Licking her wounds when we weren’t looking(!) had created a nasty infection, so on went the collar and in went the antibiotics. Later that week, in went the drains to help empty the wounds (yuck).
Two weeks after the surgery, Husband took Idge back to the vet to have the drains removed, and called me at work with the bad news. The test results from the biopsy were not good - she had an aggressive form of cancer (i.e. anywhere from just a few weeks to just a few months to live), and the infection had killed the skin around her wounds (i.e. they’d need to re-do the stitching to reconnect healthy skin).
Given the fact that the cancer was so aggressive, and that going through the re-suturing would be difficult for her to deal with, we opted for the only real choice we had and put her down that afternoon. It was one of the hardest things I’ve had to do, since she was the first pet I’d adopted on my own (my family had a cat when I was growing up, but I don’t really remember having any idea what it meant when Mom said she had to put Ralph to sleep - according to her, she was more upset by the ordeal than my brothers and I were), and was a real sweetheart (neurotic, but sweet). She’s left a big empty space in the house, and it seems strange not to see (and hear) this pear-shaped fuzzy cat stomping around the kitchen, squacking, or curled up on her bed in the corner of the kitchen (one of her favorite spots, aside from under our bed).
